


The Wrongs That Make the Words Come to Life

by WritingQuill



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Professions, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Developing Relationship, Family, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, HP: EWE, M/M, Musicians
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-26
Updated: 2015-10-26
Packaged: 2018-04-28 06:10:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5080681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritingQuill/pseuds/WritingQuill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry followed the unexpected path and became a music journalist with a very popular radio show. But he isn't truly happy. Event from his past prevent him from allowing himself true happiness, and it takes a huge party, a surprising conversation with an old nemesis, and some astute advice from one Blaise Zabini to send him on the path of change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wrongs That Make the Words Come to Life

The gig was packed. The Things finished the first part of their set, and the audience was going insane. They were an alternative rock band which played around a lot with synthesisers, something which was getting more and more popular amongst alt rock bands, Muggle and Wizarding alike, these days. It didn’t hurt that their lead singer and bass player, Dermot Whingley, had just been named _Witch Weekly_ ’s Sexiest Wizard of the Year, as he was every girl’s (and a lot of boys’) wet dream with bright blue eyes that danced when he shot that big white smile to the crowd of fans from the stage; a silky voice that reached impressive notes and made knees quiver; and a fantastic arse. 

 

Not that Harry Potter noticed those things. Especially when he was supposed to be judging the bands purely on their sound. But The Things did sound pretty good, and he figured he could take a few minutes to himself at the end of this set to appreciate the miracle that was Dermot Whingley’s leather-clad arse. Harry shook himself off his arse-related fantasies, and went back to his notes on the gig. It was a pretty solid set, some well-performed songs, nothing too show-y, and they didn’t just stick to their new album stuff, which was good. Harry liked when bands played some oldies in their tours, it was a good way to keep people excited. 

 

The band thanked the audience and went backstage for a break, and Harry headed for the bar to get himself a drink. Unfortunately, his job didn’t award him free drinks in concert halls, but then again, he couldn’t really critique music when he was drunk — everything sounded like bloody Beethoven if you’d downed enough shots of Ogden’s. He ordered a pint of lager, because he didn’t much feel like wizards’ drinks today, and was disappointed to find out they only had Fosters. He sighed and shrugged, ordering it anyway, even though it was bordering on undrinkable. 

 

As he took a sip from his pint glass — ugh — Harry surveyed the room. Though he’d left Auror training after a little over a year, some habits died hard and even now, seven years after leaving, he still did a mental check of every room he was in. Tonight, the house was packed. It was a somewhat new club called Owlery in the new Wizarding district in Soho. There were booths in the corners, friendly bartenders, and amazing acoustics, perfect for a casual concert like this one. Harry downed the rest of his pint, ignoring the bitter taste it left in his mouth, and looked over his notes again, mentally working on the gig review he had to write up for next month’s edition of _Ars nova_ , the first Wizarding music magazine which wad first published the year after the Battle of Hogwarts, when the old dodgers who dominated the Wizarding world started stepping aside and the younger generation started pushing it away from Medieval times and towards the new Millennium. Harry had been lucky yo get a spot on the magazine after he left the Aurors, considering he’d never done much writing in his life. But it turned out he had an innate passion for music, and that translated relatively well into the writing medium. Now, all these years later, Harry had his own column in the magazine, along with album and gig reviews he did every month, and as of two years ago, he’d been the host of the very popular _Good Vibrations_ show, every Tuesdays and Thursdays on the Independent Wizard Radio. 

 

He closed his Moleskine and decided it was okay to leave. The band had played their set, and everything from now on would be moot, so Harry packed up his pens and notebook into his messenger bag, put on his parka, and headed out with a nod to the bouncer on his way. 

 

* * *

 

 

‘Good afternoon, dear listeners, welcome to Good Vibrations! I am your host, Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lives to Play Awesome Music, and today we have a very special line-up prepared for you,’ Harry spoke into the microphone attached to the crane thing he didn’t know the name of, and adjusted the overly-large headphones against his ears. Across the glass on the producer booth was his trusty producer Roz Dillinger. She took his calls and lined them up for him to answer after the first song, and she made sure everything ran smoothly. While Harry enjoyed doing this radio show, he was absolutely pants at all this radio technology, and probably wouldn’t last a dat, let alone a week, without Roz. ‘You see, I went to the Owlery this weekend on a very important mission, to check out the new Things tour. It was pretty fantastic, their new songs sound awesome live, so I managed to get a hold of some live tracks from the show, and it is with great pleasure that I kick off the show this afternoon with “Holed Up Again” by The Things, live at the Owlery!’ he announced, so Roz did her magic, and music filled the booth, the fantastic bass solo intro to the song making Harry’s blood thrum in his veins. 

 

After the song ended, Harry took a few calls, played a few more songs, and chatted about the recent news in the music world, both Wizarding and Muggle. The fact that the IWR was brand new, and always looking to up the ante in terms of technology against WWN, meant that they had a nice modified Muggle-type sound system, which had room from UBS ports and CDs, alongside the vinyls old school wizards still preferred — all for the Weird Sisters, though Harry refused to even mention Celestina Warbeck in his booth let alone play her godawful noise in his show. His shows lasted four hours each day, and according to the station manager, he was very popular amongst the 16-29 demographic. 

 

By the end of his Tuesday show, Harry was exhausted. He’d been up all the night before polishing his final draft to send to the magazine editor, and now he couldn’t wait to get home. And maybe stop by Khushi’s on the way and pick up some take away curry. The thought alone was enough to make his mouth water, so Harry make quick work of saying his goodbyes to Roz and some of the station crew, threw his bag across his shoulder, and walked out into the early evening drizzle. It was nearing the end of October, so the weather was being terribly inconvenient. Freezing cold in the mornings, scorching hot int he afternoons, and damp in the evenings. It was enough to drive a man spare, and Harry pulled his parka more closely around himself as he walked through Diagon Alley towards the Leaky Cauldron. 

 

He walked by Nev’s shop and saw it was already closed, so he simply shrugged and continued on his way. Ron would probably have already gone home by now. After Rose was born, he hardly ever stayed late at work anymore, which Harry greatly admired, though he did sometimes miss the spontaneous post-work pints at the Leaky after a gruelling day down the salt-mines. 

 

Harry snorted at that thought. As if working at a joke shop and a music magazine could possibly ever be compared to a salt mine. 

 

He greeted Hannah on his way through the Leaky. She smiled widely at him as she finished serving her customer, and waved as he walked out. The drizzle had all but stopped, but the winds were picking up, slicing and ice-cold. Harry considered Apparating home, but the thought of deliciously warm curry and a nice relaxing walk made him reject the idea. 

 

So, half an hour later found Harry running up the steps at Grimmauld Place, plastic bag filled with chicken korma, some naan bread, and a side of pakora chat which he just couldn’t resist ordering. He let himself in and ran straight to the kitchen to put his bag on the kitchen table, before removing his parka and toeing off his canvas shoes. 

 

The scent of the curry was intoxicating, and Harry tucked in right away, ignoring the pile of post Kreacher picked up from the delivery owls after he’d left this morning. 

 

After dinner, Harry put his plate away and threw the rubbish in the bin, then went to the sitting room to check his post. Bills, spam mail, some correspondence from friends, and at the bottom of the pile was a shiny silver envelope sealed with dark green wax that had a crest pressed on it. Harry vaguely recognised the crest, but couldn’t recall from where, so he tore the envelope open to peek inside. 

 

It wasn’t a latter, but an invitation. On tasteful cream-coloured card stock Harry read:

 

> “ _Dear Mr Potter,_
> 
>  
> 
> _you are cordially invited to the the Fifth Anniversary Gala of Linus Records, Tuesday, 31st of October, 21:00. The most distinguished guests are expected, and some of our best artists will help us celebrate by performing. As an esteemed music journalist and aficionado, your presence will be most valued, so RSVP ASAP with your confirmation._
> 
>  
> 
> _Best wishes,_
> 
>  
> 
> _Laura Kingsley,_
> 
>  
> 
> _Executive Assistant to C.E.O._ ” 

 

Clearly this wasn’t a normal invitation, since it was addressed directly to him from the labels’ CEO’s personal assistant. He frowned at the letter. He’d been to a few record label parties in his life, mostly from Sonorus Records, who were the only proper music label in Britain for almost a century. Linus didn’t usually throw parties, at least not that Harry knew of, but he knew that the company had grown exponentially over the past few years, with its willingness to adapt to modern times and to take chances with its artists. The Things were one of their main bands, and they were one of the most successful Wizarding bands at the moment. 

 

Linus Records was also owned by Draco Malfoy. 

 

Which was why Harry found it so baffling that his personal assistant sent him an invitation to the Gala. 

 

Harry hadn’t spoken to Malfoy since the war trials in the Summer after the Battle of Hogwarts. He testified for him and Mrs Malfoy, and handed back the hawthorn wand. After that, they parted ways, and that was that. Harry knew Andromeda saw him sometimes and that he visited Teddy, and he also knew — through _The Daily Prophet_ — that his struggles to clear the family name through music had paid off. 

 

Still, it didn’t meant he wanted to go to the party. Should he? Did Malfoy still hate him? Harry certainly didn’t hate him anymore, it’d been so long since the war, and after all he’d been through in his life and in his personal relationships, Harry couldn’t find it in himself to hate anyone anymore. 

 

He sighed, and decided that perhaps a second opinion might be best in this particular case. 

 

* * *

 

 

Ron Weasley and Hermione Grange-Weasley lived in a well-sized townhouse in Finsbury Park. It’d been a joint wedding present from their parents — Mr and Mrs Granger bought the house, while Mr and Mrs Weasley did all the magic adjustments and adaptations so that they could Floo and use magic in the house without ruining the Muggle technology. 

 

When Harry stepped from the fireplace, it’d just gone half eight, and Ron was sitting on the sofa with a Quidditch magazine and a Rose deeply asleep in his arms. 

 

‘Hey, Harry,’ he greeted with a smile. 

 

‘Hey, is ‘Mione around? I need to talk through something…’ 

 

Ron snorted. He new very well that Hermione was Harry’s premium source for life advice. Lately she’d been trying to set him up on dates, but he just wasn’t ready yet, though argument lost some of its potency with Hermione ever year that went by. 

 

‘Yeah, she’s in the kitchen. She’s on dish duty tonight,’ he said with a wink, and went back to his magazine as Harry chuckled on his way to the kitchen. 

 

Hermione was standing by the sink, rinsing dishes before placing them in the dishwasher. Her now-more-manageable mane of curls was tied up in a messy bun at the top of her head, and she was wearing her work slacks and fitted shirt, though her sensible heels had been traded for a pair of slippers. 

 

‘Hermione, the light of my life!’ Harry exclaimed, entering the kitchen. Hermione looked at him with raised eyebrow as she closed the dishwasher and set it to wash. 

 

‘Oh Merlin, what now? You only do the theatrics when it’s something big…’

 

Harry sighed. ‘It’s not big, per se, just… complicated. Weird, more like. Or, I don’t know. Odd.’ 

 

Hermione crossed her arms in front of her chest, and Harry sat down on the kitchen table. ‘I got an invitation to a part for Linus Records’ anniversary.’ 

 

‘So?’ she asked. ‘I thought you liked going to label parties, wasn’t that the reason you started doing this whole music journalism thing?’ 

 

Harry rolled his eyes. Of all his friends, Hermione had been the least supportive of his career change. She always said that he should be doing something meaningful, something to help others and improve their world. But to Harry he’d already made the ultimate sacrifice to improve their world — he’d died, for Merlin’s sake, and now he just wanted a peaceful life, and to have a bit of fun. Ginny hadn’t been too happy with his career change either, and the thought sent a wave a melancholy through his chest, which he pushed aside to look at Hermione. 

 

‘Linus Records is owned by Draco Malfoy, ‘Mione. And the invite came directly from his PA.’ 

 

She hummed and sat on the chair across from his. ‘Hm, that is odd. Perhaps he wants to bury the hatchet? Or maybe his secretary is a big fan of yours and wants a chance to meet you at the party?’ 

 

Harry snorted at that. ‘I don’t think Malfoy would be hiring people who are big fans of mine, Hermione.’ 

 

‘Maybe he doesn’t know. Anyway, what should I say? I know very little about this world, Harry, and even less about Malfoy. All I know about him these days comes from _The Daily Prophet_ business section or the tabloids…’ 

 

‘Tabloids? What’s Malfoy doing in the tabloids?’ Harry asked. Being heavily featured in them himself, Harry rarely ever checked the ruddy things which were swarming to Rita Skeeter wannabes who cared not for truth or justice, but scandal and disgrace. 

 

Hermione shrugged as she smoothed a crease on the tablecloth with her fingers. ‘Apparently he brings someone home from a club almost every night. I think you were going through your… thing with Ginny when his scandal broke loose. It was in the covers of all the magazines, and ever since then he’s been sleeping around incessantly. Which is terribly unhealthy, probably just as unhealthy as you not seeing anybody in six years.’ 

 

Harry sighed again. He didn’t feel like talking about Ginny tonight of all nights. Especially not without a glass of whisky. ‘What scandal?’ he asked, bringing them back to the topic. Hermione frowned at him but shook her head and continued. 

 

‘Well, Malfoy was engaged to Astoria Greengrass after the trials, and they were together for quite a while, and seemed pretty happy, too. Then about six years ago, it came out that she’d been cheating on him for months with the same man, and she was pregnant. So they broke the engagement, and she married what’s-his-face, and ever since then, Malfoy hasn’t dated anyone else, only gone to clubs and picked up random strangers.’ She was frowning again, but not at Harry this time. Hermione seemed almost… sad for Malfoy, which was already strange in itself, if the story hadn’t made Harry himself sad. He could identify with having your heart broken by someone you’d loved deeply, but what Astoria Greengrass had done to Malfoy was just unspeakable. Harry stared down at his fingers, thinking back of Ginny and her tear-filled eyes when she told him they were over. His heart clenched. 

 

‘I had no idea,’ said Harry. He rubbed the back of his neck and stood up. ‘I should probably go. Thanks for the… well. Thanks, anyway.’ 

 

Hermione gave him a small smile and stood up to walk him to the fireplace. Ron was no longer there, probably having taken Rose up to bed. Hermione touched his arm. 

 

‘For what it’s worth, I think you should go. Talk to Malfoy, befriend him, even. Neither of you are living a particular healthy lifestyle, Harry.’ 

 

‘I’ve already saved Malfoy once, Hermione…’ 

 

‘This isn’t about saving or being saved, this is about replacing pain with something that isn’t fulfilling. Malfoy with these random people in his bed, and you with work. You work, eat, and sleep, Harry. We’re worried about you.’ 

 

Harry snorted. ‘You must be if you think befriending _Malfoy_ is the answer. Anyway, I should go. See you on Sunday, yeah?’ 

 

Hermione sighed but nodded. ‘Sunday.’ 

 

Harry stepped into the fireplace with a handful of Floo powder and went home. 

 

* * *

 

 

Sunday was the weekly Weasley lunch, prepared with all the love and care by plump Mrs Weasley, who glowed with happiness amongst his children and many many grandchildren. After Ginny broke up with him, Harry stopped going for a few weeks, until he received a howler from Mrs Weasley at work. The memory warmed him still, that Mr and Mrs Weasley still wanted them in their lives even though their daughter would no longer be Mrs Potter. 

 

Today the weather was cold. No rain but the winds were strong and sharp, and Harry stumbled as he Apparated into the front garden at the Burrow. During the Spring and Summertime, they usually ate outside, setting up a long table in the back garden, but in the colder months, they ate around the house, on tables and sofas and armchairs, wherever you could sit with your plate. Harry walked towards the house as was met at the front door by an excited eight-year-old with pink hair. He smiled widely at Teddy as he bent down for a hug. 

 

‘Harry, Harry, do you wanna play Exploding Snap? Vicky is really good, but I think you can beat her!’ he said through the hug, bouncing up and down like an overly-excited beach ball. Harry chuckled and ruffled his bubblegum hair. 

 

‘Maybe later, mate. I’ve got to greet everybody, but I’ll play with you after lunch, yeah?’ he said, and Teddy nodded, bouncing off to go back to Victoire, Bill and Fleur’s oldest. They were sitting by the hearth together along with Victoire’s little sister Dominique, and little Fred. Harry walked over to the kitchen, where Hermione, Angelina and Fleur were helping Mrs Weasley put the lunch together. 

 

‘Harry!’ greeted Mrs Weasley, wrapping him in a big hug. She let him go with a big kiss on the cheek, and he moved on to Angelina, then Fleur. Hermione gave him a knowing look, but hugged him as well, and he asked if there was anything he could do. ‘No, it’s all right, dear, we’ve got it all under control in here.’ 

 

He nodded, and walked to the sitting room, where the kids were playing Snap, and Mr Weasley was telling Ron, Bill, and George a story probably from the Ministry. Percy and Charlie were abroad so they couldn’t attend lunch. Andromeda was sitting by the children, not playing but watching them make up rules and laugh with amusement. He walked over towards her after greeting the Weasleys, and sat down. 

 

‘Hey,’ he said, placing a kiss on her cheek. She smiled indulgently at him and patted his hand. After the war, he and Andromeda grew very close because of Teddy, and he now considered her a close friend and mother figure, while she dotes on him as if he were her son. 

 

‘Harry, dear, how have you been?’ 

 

‘Good, and you and Teddy?’ 

 

‘Very good, thank you. We had lunch at Cissy’s on Wednesday. Teddy absolutely cannot get over those peacocks,’ she said with a laugh. Harry chuckled as well, looking over his godson with a grin. 

 

‘Funny you mention Mrs Malfoy… I’ve been invited to Malfoy’s company’s anniversary party.’

 

‘Oh, have you? How marvellous!’ she said, her eyes lighting up. ‘Perhaps you and Draco can talk then, get over those old school rivalries. I’m sure Teddy here would be ecstatic if his two favourite people in the world were friends,’ she added. ‘He absolutely worships Draco, Merlin bless him.’ 

 

Harry snorted. The idea of him and Draco Malfoy ever becoming friends was ridiculous at best, but he appreciated Andromeda’s intentions. Besides, he didn’t much care to talk about Malfoy for the rest of the evening, so he asked about Teddy’s homeschooling, and at that Andromeda lit up all over again, gushing over her grandson and explaining to Harry in detail how talented he was in so many things, which was very true, and made Harry very proud indeed. 

 

Ginny arrived a little before lunch was served. She looked lively and sun-kissed, having just returned from a tournament in the continent with the Harpies. Her hair was much shorter than it’d been when they were dating, and her eyes sparkled with mirth as she talked with her brothers. Harry felt his heart clench when he saw her, still. 

 

It was strange, this. He didn’t lover her anymore, not like he had when they were together. Especially not like when they’d been together in Sixth year. He just missed the idea of what she represented. His perfect little future, his peaceful nine-to-five, semi-detached, dog, two-and-a-half kids life. He didn’t want that life anymore, he wasn’t even sure now that he’d ever wanted it, only it had looked quite perfect once he’d returned from a year on the run in the woods, but when he actually thought about it, working as an Auror was a nightmare, and having a family before he even got a chance to live for himself seemed daunting. 

 

Still, he felt adrift without this perfect plan. And he felt sad at the disappointment he still found in Ginny’s eyes from time to time. Disappointment at his career path, at his seeming disregard for his own talents in order to pursue such trivial nonsense. Hermione felt the same way, he thought. But unlike Hermione, Ginny had always had ways to get under his skin, to make him question his motives even though he knew he was quite certain of what he wanted. It’s why they lasted for longer than it was probably warranted. It was why they even got back together in the first place after the war was over. 

 

Ginny sat across from him on the table and smiled pleasantly at him. Then she looked around the table, and stood up. All eyes were on her. 

 

‘Everyone, I have an announcement to make,’ she said. Mr and Mrs Weasley glanced at each other nervously, then back at their daughter. Harry stared up at Ginny while trying to calm his trembling hands. ‘I’m getting married.’ 

 

‘WHAT?’ yelled Mrs Weasley. 

 

‘To whom?’ asked Hermione, much more calmly, while everyone else, including Harry, stared at Ginny with gaping mouths. 

 

‘Dean Thomas. We reconnected last year when he ran into each other at the cafe in Paris, and we’ve been getting to know each other for the past few months. Last week he proposed, and I said yes,’ she said, eyes glinting with excitement. Harry felt his stomach drop, and stared into his plate of food. Fleur was the first to stand to offer her congratulations, wrapping Ginny in a fierce hug. Hermione was next, followed by George and Angelina, and soon all the Weasleys, Andromeda and Teddy were chattering happily around Ginny asking about the proposal, the wedding plans, and, in Ron’s case, Dean’s intentions. Mr and Mrs Weasley hugged their daughter, and Mrs Weasley sobbed on her shoulder, crying with happiness that her youngest was finally settling down. 

 

Harry stood apart, and when Ginny glanced his way, he managed a weak smile he didn’t really mean. He didn’t love Ginny, not really, not like she deserved. And she didn’t love him, didn’t respect his choices. But it was hard having this door firmly shut in his face, no matter the improbability of him ever crossing the threshold. 

 

He left before dessert, claiming he had a lot of work to do at home, and promised Andromeda to babysit Teddy on Wednesday before walking out into the front garden to Apparate home, where he went straight for the Firewhisky, feeling the knot in his stomach ease with every sip. 

 

* * *

 

 

As the days went by, Harry did his best to forget about Ginny’s engagement. He ignored the headlines in the tabloids and the pitying glances people threw his way — even though they’d broken up years ago, the general public still believed Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley were star-crossed lovers and time would bring them back together. Well, bully for them, because now Ginny’s engagement to renowned artist Dean Thomas was splashed all over the news in between that Wizengamot sex scandal and Draco Malfoy’s latest conquests. Harry had barely even been aware of the gossip surrounding Malfoy all these years, but now that Hermione had brought it up, he couldn’t un-see. Every time he went to the newsagents, there he was, arms around a perky brunette witch with a slightly flatter chest than Harry would have guesses, or with his tongue down some buff guy’s throat. He was surprised the Wizarding public was so at ease with this blatant display of bisexuality, and mentioned it to Hermione during lunch a couple of days before the Linus gala. 

 

‘They are now, of course, because Malfoy couldn’t care less about what they write about him, but you probably missed all the outrage when it first came out,’ she said, twirling her fork around her Caesar salad. Harry hummed. 

 

‘Can’t believe I missed that. Where was I?’ 

 

Hermione snorted. ‘It was right after he and Astoria Greengrass split up, you were probably working yourself dead after the Ginny debacle.’ 

 

Harry managed a smile for her, but frowned inwardly. Is it possible that he allowed himself to grow so detached because of this break-up that he missed an enormous public scandal that changed the way the Wizarding press dealt with sexuality? 

 

‘Well, now you know, Harry. And you can start paying attention again.’ 

 

‘I suppose, yeah. Still, I can’t believe I’ve been so clueless. I must’ve been unbearable these past few years.’ 

 

Hermione barked a laugh and placed a hand atop his on the table, giving it a squeeze. ‘I love you, Harry, but you’ve always been a bit of a pain in the backside.’ 

 

They laughed together. Harry decided that it was time to move on from this ridiculous standstill he found himself in. He saw bands every week, played amazing music on the radio all the time, but didn’t really appreciate it. He didn’t appreciate the parties and the sounds and the people, all because he was too wrapped up in his insecurities. But now he knew, now he knew and it was time to make a few changes. Or at least one big change — to allow himself to be happy doing what he loved doing. Expectations be damned, he was twenty-six years old, he didn’t owe anybody anything, and he was going to enjoy his job and have the fun he missed out on as a teenager. 

 

On the days leading up to the gala, Harry decided to go shopping for something to wear. The music industry in the Wizarding world had largely given up robes in favour of more flattering and versatile Muggle clothing, so he needed to get a new suit, since his old one was far too old and most likely fit him terribly. He also stood in front of the mirror for at least a half hour debating whether or not to shave his kind-of beard, but decided that the actually looked pretty good with it, and simply went out to get his hair cut a bit on the sides. It was the most he’d ever done to himself in regard to his appearance, and by the time Hallowe’en arrived, he felt he looked pretty good, and was looking forward to having a good time at this gala, even if he did end up running into Malfoy, who would probably be too busy trying to bed a groupie to even notice him anyway. 

 

* * *

 

 

The party/gala was at a converted warehouse in Battersea. Though the outside looked glum and slightly too damp, as soon as the bouncer let him in, Harry was awestruck. The ceiling was enchanted almost like Hogwarts, but it was showing the galaxy, millions and millions of stars casting gleaming light onto the space. And what a space it was! Bars in every corner, tended to by juggling bartenders who danced a ballet of preparing drinks and chatting up guests. Dancers were perched on platforms across the whole space, all in bright outfits, smiling widely as they moved their hips sensually. And circus performers were everywhere, swinging from trapezes, dancing on sheets hanging from the ceiling, juggling fire. And the party was packed! There were beautiful people everywhere, dancing, chatting, drinking, greeting each other. Harry could spot the musicians by their outfits, and grinned when he saw Dermot Whingley from The Things was already there (sans bandmates, who Harry supposed were scattered around the party), surrounded by a large group of women, animatedly telling a story while they hung on his every word. 

 

Harry made his way to the bar, trying to feel like he fit into this crowd, even though he knew logically that he did. He ordered an Old Fashioned and was pleased to discover it was an open bar. Sipping his drink, Harry studied the other guests, trying to find a face he recognised and was familiar with enough o strike up a conversation. 

 

On the other side of the bar, Harry spotted Blaise Zabini, whom he’d spoken to a few times in gigs he’d worked in over the past few years. Since he didn’t feel like talking to other journalists, and most musicians were surrounded by their little cliques, Harry walked over to him. 

 

‘Hey, Blaise,’ Harry greeted, trying to look friendly and approachable. He tried styling his hair tonight with an old family recipe (fine, it was Sleekeazy’s) and it ended up looking slightly just-been-fucked tousled, which wasn’t too bed, considering it usually looked just-got-up-from-nap messy. His suit was a sleek and well-tailored navy-blue affair that he paired with his trusted old canvas shoes because he invite did say “casual,” and it didn’t intimidate him at all that Blaise looked utterly composed and put-together in a dark grey three-piece suit completed with Italian leather shoes, cuff-links and the straightest knotted tie ever known to man, because that was how Blaise always dressed regardless of dress code. His dark skin glowed against the starlight from the ceiling, and he looked almost beautiful. 

 

‘Harry Potter, you did come, then,’ Blaise said in lieu of greeting. His smile was almost predatory, and for a second Harry felt a tingle down his spine. ‘Poor Laura was sure you wouldn’t.’ 

 

‘So she _did_ invite me,’ Harry said. At Blaise’s raised eyebrow, he continued, ‘I wondered if she’d done it herself, or if Malfoy had put her up to it. It was an oddly personal invite.’ 

 

Blaise chuckled, a deep sound that came straight from the depths of his throat. ‘I’m sure if Draco didn’t want you here, you wouldn’t be here, Harry,’ he said with a wink. Harry felt himself blush for no reason, and took a sip from his glass. Blaise himself was nursing what appeared to be regular whisky, neat. 

 

‘So, where is His Highness, then? Frolicking with the twinks?’

 

Blaise laughed again, though now Harry felt like he was the one being laughed at, and wondered if there was some big joke he wasn’t in on. ‘No, no twinks yet, but the night is still young.’ But even though his words and expression were amused, Harry sensed a slightly irritated tone. He looked at the wedding band on Blaise’s finger, and wondered if he disapproved of Malfoy’s rolling about with a different conquest every night.

 

They stayed in silence for a few minutes, sipping their respective drinks and surveying the room, which got more animated as more guests arrived. 

 

‘Happy anniversary, by the way,’ Harry said. ‘It must feel good to be celebrating your company’s success like this.’ 

 

Blaise smiled, more fondly this time. He was clearly very proud of himself, and it showed. ‘Yes. I still remember the day Draco burst into my flat after quitting Sonorus saying he was going to start his own label and fuck those old-fashioned arseholes. I didn’t think he’d do it, but when Draco puts his mind to something, he gets it done.’ 

 

Harry hummed. ‘It’s a shame he doesn't produce much anymore. I haven’t spoken to him in years, but I remember listening to the albums he produced at Sonorus and thinking those were the best albums they were putting out.’ 

 

Blaise chuckled. ‘I’m sure he’ll be surprised to hear you say that. But you’re right, he’s very talented, and I think it bugs him that as CEO he can’t really do it anymore. Oh, and speak of the devil, there he is.’ He looked over Harry’s shoulder, and Harry turned. 

 

There he was, indeed. Draco Malfoy was walking in their direction, and Harry realised that those pictures in the papers did not do him justice. He was as lean and tall as ever, but he’d grown into his pointy features, looking positively chiselled. His intense grey eyes sparkled in the starlight, and his hair was almost the colour of the moon, much more relaxed than it’d been at Hogwarts, shorter on the sides and falling on his forehead in a wonderfully tousled style. 

 

He was wearing a tailored black suit with a crips white shirt that was open at the collar, revealing his shapely neck and a hint of collarbones, and his legs went on for miles and miles, ending in a shiny pair of black Oxfords. It was strange seeing him in Muggle clothes, but Harry approved. If he’d had a spare braincell that wasn’t focused on the way Malfoy’s hips moved clad in those well-fitting trousers, he would have realised that a heterosexual man wouldn’t really be paying that much attention and reacting so much to another man’s looks. But, unfortunately, or fortunately, Harry was entranced, and could not tear his eyes away from Malfoy even if the room caught on fire. 

 

‘Blaise,’ greeted Malfoy, a hint of a smile on his lips when he turned to Harry. ‘And Potter, I’m sure Laura would be over the moon that you came.’ 

 

‘Yes, I should thank her for the invite, this is a great party,’ Harry said. ‘There aren’t many journalists here, then?’ 

 

Malfoy shook his head. ‘No, only personal friends, no one on record, otherwise how are we to have fun?’ he said with a wink that made Harry’s knees go a bit weak. Why was he haven't such a strong reaction to Malfoy? Maybe it’s because he hadn’t gotten laid in a long time, yeah, that made sense. He sighed inwardly and smiled at Malfoy. 

 

‘I’m glad Laura considers me a friend, then,’ he said, and Blaise laughed, then clapped him on the shoulder. 

 

‘As much as I’d like to witness this little reunion a bit longer, I muse find my wife before she elopes with one of these skinny-jeans-wearing twenty-year-olds,’ he said, shaking Malfoy’s hand and walking away. 

 

‘Blaise and Pansy, who would’ve known?’ said Harry. Malfoy snorted. 

 

‘Anyone in Slytherin, actually. The sexual tension between them was ridiculous at school, even though most people thought Pansy and I were an item. Of course, she is like a sister to me, so the mere thought of that made me sick, and so did she, I image, after she grew out of her little pre-teen crush,’ Malfoy said. ‘We were nothing like you and the Weaselette, Potter.’ 

 

Harry frowned. ‘Don’t call her that.’ 

 

Malfoy raised his hands. ‘My apologies, some habits are hard to break. I’m sure you are quite tired of hearing about your ex-girlfriend and her intended at this point.’ 

 

Harry smiled sardonically. ‘Yes, I really am. It’s very strange talking to you so normally, you know.’ 

 

He managed to startle a laugh out of Malfoy, who looked quite handsome with his face relaxed in mirth. He ran a hand through his white blond hair and smirked. ‘Indeed. But I think we’ve evolved enough past those awful teenage years not to see each other as rivals or nemeses anymore. I don’t think I’ve thought about you like that since Sixth year.’ 

 

That was true, Harry hadn’t really hated Malfoy in a very long time. Or thought about him much beyond what was required of him because of his career. But at those moments, he felt in Malfoy a sort of kindred spirit. Someone who chose the unexpected path regardless of what others would think. Society probably thought he should stay behind bars or live as a pariah, but he picked himself up, left his old familial strings behind, and became his own man, and Harry respected that, because in a way it was what he himself had done. And standing there before him, Malfoy looked good, not only physically, but he gave off a sense of pride and peace that settled Harry’s nerves and made him almost dizzy. 

 

‘Anyway, Potter, I must do the rounds, greet and whatnot. Dull work, but it’s part of the job description, I’m afraid,’ Malfoy said, rolling his eyes at himself. Harry smirked and tipped his glass at him. 

 

‘Best of luck, sir,’ he said. Malfoy snorted, nodded goodbye and walked away, and Harry tried to ignore the fact that his eyes were focused a bit lower than Malfoy’s back as he watched him walk away. 

 

Harry decided to do his own rounds. He got himself another drink and roamed the party floor, keeping away from the dance floor, and stopped to speak with some people he knew. Some producers whom he was friendly with seemed happy to have a chat, and he ended up in an animated discussion with Jemina Clarkson about the benefits of vinyl versus compact disc. Almost two hours went by, and suddenly the lights dimmed. He was still talking to Jemina, and both looked at the stage, where a spotlight with the Linus crest shined over a black background. The warehouse went quiet as Malfoy took the stage, looking pinker than when Harry’d last seen him. His eyes sparkled with mirth, and he smiled before taking the microphone from the stand. 

 

‘Ladies, gentlemen, et cetera — welcome to Linus Records’ fifth anniversary celebration!’ he said, his deep voice penetrating the crowd, shaking the walls, stirring something deep in Harry’s core. The crowd went wild, clapping and cheering for him. Harry couldn’t remember ever seeing such a large group of people seeming happy to see Malfoy, it was almost humbling. ‘Thank you for coming, your presence had made this celebration incredibly special for all of us who planned this even, but especially for me. I can’t possibly put in words how happy I am to see this company succeed and be supported by all of you, and I will not bore you with the particulars of my excitement. Instead, I’ve organised for some of our best artists to play for us tonight, so please, join me in welcoming to the stage The Howl!’ And the crowd went insane again, Harry included. 

 

The Howl had essentially brought punk back to the Wizarding music world. Their frontman, or rather front-woman, was Helga Masterson, a young woman with incredible musical talent and a raw voice that made their music intense and, in Harry’s personal opinion, absolutely fucking awesome. She played rhythmic guitar, and her other bandmates were all women as well, and they always wore skinny jeans or black leather skirts, and ripped T-shirts and flannel shirts, along with DMs and a lot of eyeliner.

 

As they began their set with “Inferi Paradise,” their first number one hit single, the crowd started to jump and generally behave as insanely as a punk concert warranted. Harry stood by the side, watching the band play, Helga scream into the microphone with all that powerful energy that had the whole place vibrating. She had the crowd hypnotised already and they weren't even two minutes into the set. 

 

Harry decided to stop by the loo, which would probably be empty now that the crowd was otherwise occupied, but before he could turn for the door, he heard a hustling sound from the utilities door and decided to check. He gently pushed the door open to take a peek, and had to physically stop himself from gasping at what he found. 

 

Malfoy, leaning against the wall, face flushed, tie askew, trousers open as an anonymous head bobbed in front of his lap. Malfoy, getting a blow job in the utility room. And, for some reason, instead of walking away, Harry cast a Notice Me Not charm on himself, and kept watching, fixated on Malfoy’s flushed cheeks, panting breaths, the perspiration on his forehead and the delicate moans coming from his throat. Harry felt something stirring at the bottom of his stomach, and even he couldn’t deny that he was getting hard watching Malfoy getting a blow job. It was just… so damn erotic. He almost moaned himself, but before anything could happen, he heard hard steps behind him and moved to the side before being trampled by a very angry Blaise Zabini, who stormed into the room full of wrath. 

 

‘Draco, what the fuck!?’ he yelled. The door was now wide open, and Harry watched as the guy… servicing Malfoy scrambled upwards and ran away without saying anything. Malfoy simply fastened his trousers and adjusted his tie, looking at Blaise with bored eyed. 

 

‘Yes?’ 

 

‘You can’t just vanish in the middle of the event to get a fucking blow job from some random bloke! This whoring around of yours has got to stop!’ 

 

Malfoy’s eyes hardened and he growled at Blaise. ‘What I do in my private time has nothing to do with you or anyone else for that matter.’ 

 

‘Well, that’s where you’re wrong, Draco, because you are the fucking CEO of this company, how do you think it looks to the board members when you show up at the front page of tabloids every fucking day parading a new groupie in your arms? Draco, this is business, and you have got to stop this nonsense!’ 

 

‘Fine,’ Malfoy spat, pulling his jacket more tightly over his shoulders. ‘I’ll be more discreet, may I be excused?’ he tried walking away, but Blaise grabbed him by the upper arm. His hand was so large, he could close it around Malfoy’s arm. 

 

‘No, you cannot. You are twenty-six years old, Draco. It’s time to grow up and stop acting like a teenager. Going to clubs, sleeping with a different person every night? It’s not healthy. It’s been six years…’ 

 

Six years? Oh, right. Astoria Greengrass. Harry watched as Draco’s face crumpled in rage as Blaise brought up his former fiancée. Harry didn’t know much more than what Hermione had told him about the whole mess, but it was clear Malfoy was still not over it, or at least he didn’t want to be. Or something. He couldn’t really tell. 

 

But then again, who was Harry to judge someone for not moving on? After Ginny, he had barely dated at all, and certainly didn’t make any emotional attachments beyond his friends. Malfoy seemed to have coped the same way, except he used work and casual sex as a replacement for emotional attachment, while Harry used work and… well, nothing else, really. 

 

‘That has nothing to do with this, Blaise,’ Malfoy said, sneering. Blaise shook his head. 

 

‘Yeah, right. I know you better than anyone, Draco. Astoria wrecked you and you refuse to move on. Are you afraid to get hurt again, is that what this is?’ he asked, voice growing louder as he got angrier. ‘You can’t keep living like this! I’m worried about you, Pansy is worried, everyone is. You have to snap out of this, find someone you can share your life with, not just your bed.’ 

 

Malfoy snorted. ‘I tried that, and it fucked me over. I will not be making that mistake again, thank you very much. And now I have a party to tend to, excuse me,’ he said, the tone of finality clear in his voice. Malfoy walked away, leaving Blaise alone in the room. He leant back on the wall and sighed. 

 

‘I know you’re there, Harry,’ he said. Harry startled, and the charm dissipated. He stared at Blaise in apprehension. ‘I was following Draco here then I saw you come in this direction. Figured you’d put a charm on yourself to not be seen.’ 

 

‘Right… Sorry about that, I—‘ 

 

‘No need to tell me, you couldn’t stop watching him, right? He is rather mesmerising in the throes of passion…’ 

 

Harry’s eyes widened. That was the last thing he’d expected to hear from Blaise Zabini. ‘How do you—?’ 

 

Blaise snorted, a sad little sound that made Harry’s heart clench. ‘After the whole Astoria debacle, Draco stayed with us for a while, and one night we got really pissed on very fine French wine, and we talked trash about Astoria for hours, and one thing led to another… Suddenly, the three of us were in bed together. It was truly a unique experience, we’d never done that before, but I do think it’s perhaps how Draco got in his head that sex could replace, well, heart.’ 

 

‘Wow. I can’t even—wow.’

 

Blaise smiled. ‘Yes, well. It’s hardly a fond memory, I’d trade it for Draco to be happy again any day.’ 

 

Harry smiled and walked over to lean on the wall next to Blaise. ‘It’s hard to move past heartbreak like that… I know what he’s going through. I mean, sure, it’s been a long time, but… some wounds are just too deep and take too long to scar.’ 

 

Blaise looked at him with eyes full of knowing. ‘Are you still in love with Ginny Weasley?’ 

 

Harry snorted. ‘No. I just feel adrift without that certainty. The idea of a perfect little future with a little family and a little house. It’s not what I wanted back then, not what I want now, but it’s _something_. Right now, I don’t know what my future holds, and it’s scary. The fear is what stops me from doing anything but work. Work is certain, I know how to do it… Anything else? Beats me…’ Harry said, and it was almost easier talking about this with Blaise than with Hermione or Ron. He wasn’t biased, he didn’t think Harry could be doing better, he didn’t think Harry was still pining after Ginny. ‘I guess Malfoy is going through the same. I must have been hard for him after the war, and Astoria was his hope for a better future, different maybe than what his parents had planned for him, but then she betrayed him just like everybody else… It’s hard to heal from that, even if he doesn’t have feelings for her anymore.’ 

 

Blaise stared at him for long moments, then blew all the air out of his lungs, sliding against the wall and slumping on the floor, looking less composed than Harry had ever seen him. ‘You just blew my mind, Harry Potter.’ 

 

Harry chuckled and sat down next to him. ‘I can be insightful sometimes.’ 

 

‘Indeed. I think you are absolutely right, of course. It makes so much sense, but I suppose you have to live through it to see it.’ 

 

‘Yeah. I’ve done a lot of introspection the past few weeks.’ 

 

Blaise hummed. ‘That’s good, Draco needs to do that. He’s too stubborn to, of course. He’s probably going to sleep with everyone in this fucking party just to spite me now.’ 

 

They lapsed into silence for a few minutes. Harry thought about Malfoy coping with heartbreak, how foreign a thought that was. At school, he’d thought Malfoy heartless, but now… Well, now perhaps he knew him better, even though they hadn’t spoken properly in a long time. Maybe it was time for them to “bury the hatchet” as Hermione said, and through that they might find peace. It’s hard leaning on your friends when they don’t understand what you’re going through — at least, Harry thought that, and maybe Malfoy felt the same way. 

 

‘Do you think…’ he started, closing his mouth again and organising his thoughts. Blaise arched an eyebrow at him. ‘Do you think Mal—Draco would go for a coffee with me? Or lunch, or something?’ 

 

Blaise smirked. ‘Perhaps, to what end?’ 

 

Harry shrugged. ‘I don’t know, a chat? We’re going through similar things, and he doesn’t seem to hate me anymore, maybe we could talk this through together.’ 

 

With a nod, Blaise’s smirk turned into a grin. ‘Ask him. He’s very busy, but I’m sure he can find time for you if he can find time for those little sluts he prances around with.’ 

 

After that, they were silent again, then Blaise excused himself to go back to the party, and Harry followed. The Howl had left the stage, and Nina Tumkin was up, running around the stage with her electric pink hair playing electronic music. She reminded Harry painfully of Tonks with all her energy and colours. Her music was wonderful though, slightly electronic, alternative rock, a bit of House music mixed in there sometimes, very cool. It wasn’t what Harry usually went for for his personal music, but he reviewed her well because she was talented and her music was technically very good. Malfoy had produced her first album two years ago and it’d stayed in first place at the charts for thirty-five weeks running. 

 

He stayed a while longer at the party, but didn’t talk to anyone. After the heart-to-heart with Blaise, Harry felt strangely drained. He left an hour later, waving goodbye to Pansy who was at the bar chatting with some producers, and, since he wasn’t even remotely drunk, Apparated home. 

 

As he stripped off his clothes and got ready to bed, Harry decided to owl Malfoy the next day asking him to lunch. It’d be cathartic if nothing else, and Harry was in need of a good bout of catharsis. 

 

* * *

 

 

_Friday, 12pm, Angelo’s. Don’t be late_. — DM, said the roll of parchment delivers to Harry’s kitchen Thursday morning. He’d sent a letter to Malfoy the day before asking him to lunch for a chat and maybe getting past old demons, and after a day without any response which had led Harry to think he’d been rejected — and he wasn’t thinking about the slightly hollow pressure on his chest when he thought about that — the owl was a surprise, as was the letter containing only a time and address. It wasn’t a rejection, but Malfoy didn’t seem particularly happy about it either. Though maybe he was just curt by nature when met with uncertainty. Either way, he was getting his lunch and that made Harry happy for the time being. Hopefully it wouldn’t end in disaster. 

 

He went to the office that morning with a spring in his step. The _Ars nova_ offices were just what one would expect from a music magazine. Desks upon desks of casually-dressed music enthusiasts and connoisseurs covered in stacks of CDs and folders. Band posters lined the walls, as well as framed awards given to the magazine. On the far end of the room there was a framed photo of Rita Skeeter covered in dart holes which they used for practice sometimes on slow days. She wasn’t a fan of their kind of journalism — honest, non-speculative, well-informed — and they weren’t fans of hers — lying, hyperbolic, sensationalist. 

 

His desk was by the window, and it was the cleanest of the lot because he spent little time at the office, usually preferring to work from home, which was a perk of this particular job that he always held over Hermione once she went on her diatribes. Some of his colleagues nodded at him when he arrived, but since it was close to the final deadline for printing, everyone was working on editing and re-editing their pieces so the were ready for publication. Harry had a couple of albums to review and he’d already sent his column to the editor, clean and ready to go.

 

The day was spent on his desk, listening to tracks and jotting down his thoughts, then getting some context by listening to the previous works of the artists, or the other stuff their producer worked on recently. This was what made Harry’s reviews stand out from the lot, he always went above and beyond to be 100% honest and he always looked at an album from all sides, from the aesthetic to the technical, and his readers loved him for it. 

 

By the time the day at the office was finished and he headed to the radio for his show, he’d managed to completely put the lunch off his mind, but when he remembered it, the excitement and nervousness overcame him all over again. He could hardly wait, but he had to keep it together until he got home this evening after the show and after dinner at Ron and Hermione’s, when he could finally let himself be excited about _lunch_ with _Draco Malfoy_ of all people. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Angelo’s was a nice Italian bistro just off Soho Square, near the Linus Records offices. The place was small and comfortable, with warm colours on the walls and tablecloths, and lovely dark furniture. Soft jazz played in low volume from the speakers, and overall, the place gave off a sense of utmost comfort. 

 

Harry arrived at five to, heeding the request to not be late. He was shown to a table by the window that apparently Malfoy had reserved, and ordered himself a glass of water as he waited. The waiter put a bread basket in front of him with a little bowl of butter, and he tucked in, savouring the flavours of crunchy Italian bread mixed with the best butter Harry had ever had. 

 

Malfoy walked in at twelve o’clock on the dot. He was wearing a dark green overcoat with a grey scarf, and a dove grey suit underneath. He smiled warmly at the waiter as he walked and headed straight for Harry’s table. 

 

‘Good afternoon,’ he greeted as he took off his coat and hung it on the hook behind him on the wall. ‘I hope you’re fine with this restaurant, I don’t usually take long lunches, and this is close to the office.’ 

 

Harry smiled. ‘It’s very nice, don’t worry about it.’ Malfoy smiled and nodded, then sat down, and ordered himself a glass of water, which he waiter brought along with the menus and a wine list. 

 

‘Wine for lunch on a work day?’ Harry asked with a smirk.

 

‘It is Friday, after all,’ Malfoy said with a wink, which made Harry laugh. They ordered their meals and wine — some fancy Italian Merlot that apparently went really well with the carbonara Harry ordered, according to Malfoy _and_ the waiter — then lapsed into silence as their waiter walked away. The bistro was filling up now, as more and more businessmen and women walked in chatting with each other, looking sharp in suits and business clothes. Harry hadn’t really thought of this area as having a lot of businesses, but he supposed in London there was business everywhere. 

 

‘So,’ Malfoy began. ‘Why?’ 

 

‘Why what?’

 

‘Why this? Now?’ 

 

Harry shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I’ve been thinking about doing some changes in my life lately, doing some introspection, and after our chat at the party the other day, I realised that maybe we’re ready to get past our past and become friends. Or friendly, anyway. We work in the same industry, we know a lot of the same people… Hell, we even went through painful break-ups at around the same time.’ 

 

Malfoy hummed. Harry wondered if for the sake of olive branches he should start thinking of him as Draco now. 

 

‘Fair enough,’ Mal—Draco said. ‘I suppose you’re right. I haven’t got the energy to hold onto schoolboy grudges anymore.’ 

 

Harry smiled as their waiter appeared with their wine. Conversation flowed well after that. They talked mostly about music, because it was safe ground and they were still getting to know each other again, but still. It felt nice. He couldn’t talk in depth about music with his friends, because they weren’t into it like he was, so it was good to have a passionate discussion about why Dynasty’s last album was inferior to her previous work without feeling like it was all pointless because it was only music. 

 

After their plates had been cleared, and coffee had been ordered, Harry offered to pay for the meal, saying it was only fair since he’d made the invitation in the first place, and Draco only agreed after suggesting he got the bill next time, which Harry was more than happy with. 

 

Bill paid and coats back on, they thanked their waiter and walked out side by side. 

 

‘Perhaps I can cook for you next time,’ said Draco, surprising Harry. ‘I haven’t had the opportunity to cook for someone else in along time, and I suppose it would be more comfortable at home than at a restaurant.’ 

 

Harry grinned. ‘Sounds good. Do you still live at the Manor?’ 

 

Draco snorted. ‘Gods, no. I have a flat in Belgravia. I’ll owl you the address,’ he said, and Harry nodded. They shook hands and said their goodbyes, and Harry felt more content than he had in a very long time. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Over the next few weeks, Harry and Draco grew closer. After their initial lunch, Harry went over to Draco’s lovely Belgravia home — which was tastefully decorated and organised to an inch of its life — and Draco’d cooked him a very fine meal of roast lamb and _Risotto Nobile Piedmontese_ , and they’d eaten and talked until the wee hours of the morning. It’d been surprisingly comfortable and nice, as had been their subsequent meetings. They went to restaurants for dinner and lunch, to cafes to afternoon tea and breakfast, and sometimes they met at pubs or bars just for drinks. Harry hadn’t been this social in a very long time, and it wasn’t as draining as he’d thought it would be. Or perhaps it was the company. He and Draco never seemed to run out of things to talk about, from music to Muggle cinema — which Draco enjoyed very much, to Harry’s immense surprise — to family. They talked at length about Andromeda and Teddy (whom Draco preferred to call “Edward” — ‘it _is_ his given name, after all,’ he’d say), and as they grew closer and closer, they talked about their own families, about James and Lily, and Lucius and Narcissa. Those conversations were difficult, but they came out unscathed and with lighter souls. 

 

Harry wasn’t surprised when he started thinking of Draco was his friend. He thought about him during the day sometimes, when he read something funny or saw the poster for a film he wanted to watch. What surprised him were the more… intimate thoughts he’d started having regarding Draco about two months into their friendship. 

 

No one could deny Draco’s beauty. His white blond hair that looked oh-so-soft under candlelight, his long, dark lashes against the alabaster skin of his cheek. His deep laugh that shook his entire body. His lithe body, long legs, lean arms, delicate neck. He was beautiful, and for the first time in a long time, Harry found himself actually lusting after someone. It didn’t bother him that it was a man, but it was rather inconvenient that he was starting to fall in lust for his very new friend who was still going through a lot of painful emotions. They talked a little about Astoria in their many meetings, but it was still a sore subject for Draco, and Harry didn’t want to hurt him. He did talk about Ginny, though, and Draco was happy to listen and give advice, and with his help, Harry found that tight knot in his chest loosening, and he was more certain about the uncertainty of his future. 

 

The dreams were the worst part though. One night Draco had come over for dinner at his place, and they watched a film together on the telly and talked about nothing in particular. Draco had been wearing a pair of jeans that hugged him in all the right places — those right places being his lean thighs and gorgeous arse — and a soft-looking dark green Cashmere jumper. He had his shoes off and his socked feet had rested on the coffee table as they watched the film, each holding a wine glass. They’d chatted and laughed and been silly, and it’d been the most fun Harry had had in such a long time, and that night, after Draco had left, and after he’d taken a shower and gone to bed, Harry dreamt about stretching over Draco on the soft, running his hands over his body under that jumper, tasting his skin, feeling his body taut against his, and he’d woken up wet and sticky, heart racing. 

 

It was truly a testament of his self-control that Harry managed to have lunch with Draco the next day without blushing furiously the whole time every time his mind ventured into the dream territory. 

 

* * *

 

 

It was two days before Christmas, when Harry left Draco’s office after lunch, and ran into Blaise at the foyer. He smiled widely as he greeted Harry. 

 

‘Merry Christmas, Harry Potter,’ said Blaise, boisterously. He was loud and large, and filled the entire room with his cheer. Harry chuckled, shaking his hand. 

 

‘Hey, Blaise, how’ve you been?’

 

‘Very well, actually. Business has been great, the board members are happy, the Christmas bonus are meaty, and I leave with my beautiful wife for a two-week holiday in five days.’ 

 

Harry smiled. ‘That’s great, well done. Any special plans for Christmas, then?’ 

 

Blaise shook his head. ‘No, just a quiet night in with the missus, and our traditional Boxing Day shop-fest followed by dessert-only lunch with Draco.’ 

 

‘Sounds great, actually. I’m spending Christmas Eve at the Weasleys, but Andromeda, Teddy and I are having a quiet Christmas together at mine on the twenty-fifth. I invited Draco along, but he isn’t sure he’ll be able to convince his mum to come along.’ 

 

Blaise smiled even wider at Harry’s mention of Draco. ‘So I noticed you did ask him to lunch that day. I wondered if you would, and now look at you both.’ 

 

Harry chuckled. ‘Yes, it’s very weird, but I’m actually pretty happy for the first time in a long time. Draco is great company.’ 

 

‘Indeed. I think he’s happy as well, truly properly happy, not just-had-an-orgasm happy.’ 

 

‘What do you mean?’ Harry ached an eyebrow. 

 

Blaise put his hands in his pockets and tilted his head. ‘Haven’t you noticed the conspicuous lack of Draco in the tabloids recently? He hasn’t been out clubbing in ages, since about a few weeks after you two started meeting regularly.’ 

 

‘I hadn’t even noticed, I’ve been so busy at work and then occupied with Draco and my other friends, I haven’t even read the newspaper properly in the past few weeks.’ 

 

‘Well, there it is. He hasn’t been out with anyone in a long time. I think you’re providing him with something he was using the casual sex for. Except this is way more meaningful. He’s _happy_ , Harry, thanks to you.’ 

 

Harry beamed and rubbed the back of his neck. Draco did seem more… alive recently. He was certainly happier, but having Blaise thank him for it was really heartwarming, and he wanted to go back upstairs and give Draco a hug. ( _And a kiss_ , his mind provide, unhelpfully.)

 

‘He’s made me happy, too,’ was all Harry could say. They parted ways after that, Harry going back home for the holidays, and Blaise back to work. 

 

Happiness seemed like such a foreign concept just a few months ago, but here he was now, truly happy, and somehow Draco Malfoy was involved. Life worked in mysterious ways, indeed. 

 

* * *

 

 

After a very loud and slightly awkward Christmas Eve with the Weasleys feat. Dean Thomas, Harry was glad to have chosen to have a quiet Christmas day with Andromeda and Teddy. Draco had said he would come but his mother wouldn’t because she was feeling under the weather — at which Andromeda nodded, saying that ‘Narcissa always did have a frail constitution’ — and Teddy was over the moon at having his three favourite people in the same room together. He had woken up at the crack of dawn to open presents, but Andromeda told him to wait until Draco arrived so they could all open their presents together. Harry was a bit nervous about giving Draco his first Christmas present. It was an odd thing to feel nervous about, but he was anyway. 

 

At half past ten, the Floo roared to life and Draco stepped out, looking unbearably comfortable in a pair of dark grey slacks and a surprising blue Christmas jumper with a snowflake pattern in white on it. His hair was un-styled and looked impossibly soft, and he was carrying a bag full of presents. 

 

‘Good morning,’ he greeted with an easy smile. ‘Apologies for my delay, I was helping Mother with her breakfast. She doesn’t do well on cold weather, and the Manor is terribly cold during the winter,’ he added, bending to place a kiss on Andromeda’s cheek. He gave Teddy a hug and shot Harry a smile, then set his bag by the tree. 

 

‘I keep telling her to leave that rotten house, but does she listen? Silly woman,’ Andromeda said, making Draco and Harry laugh. Anyone who knew Andromeda also knew that she was possibly one of the most stubborn people alive, much like her younger sister. 

 

‘Presents, Draco, presents!’ exclaimed Teddy, clearly tired for waiting around for the adults to stop adult-ing. Draco smiled indulgently at him and sat by his side on the floor, showing Harry a softer side he hadn’t yet seen, and carving himself a neat little room in Harry’s heart. 

 

‘Eager, are we, Edward? Which present shall we open first, then?’ 

 

Teddy surveyed the tree and picked up the largest present, a box wrapped in red paper covered in dancing Father Christmases. He tore the paper open to reveal an action figure from a comic he liked, probably given to him by George who knew all about these comics and cartoons that children loved. As they watched Teddy open his presents, the three grown-ups smiled and sat back in silence, making the appropriate noises following a particularly exciting present. And there were many, because Teddy had many people in his life that loved him, Harry had always made sure of that. 

 

After opening Harry’s present, Teddy squealed with joy and threw himself at his arms. It was a big boy broom, as Andromeda called it, his first proper one, that Harry would teach him to fly around in. ‘This is awesome, Harry, thank you so much! Did you see this, Draco?’ 

 

Draco’s smile widened. ‘I did, it is pretty cool, Edward. Perhaps you should open my gift now, since it’s complementary to Harry’s,’ he said, handing Teddy his box. It was much smaller, but Teddy opened it excitedly anyway. In the box was a shiny Snitch, lying dormant waiting to be played with. Harry beamed at Draco, and Teddy squealed all over again, hugging Draco tightly. ‘I think it’s time someone steal your godfather’s title of youngest Seeker in a century, don’t you?’ he added with a wink, and Harry barked a laugh. 

 

After Teddy’s presents were finished, Harry, Andromeda and Draco opened theirs. Andromeda got a collection of artisan jams, a few beautiful scarves, a Goblin-made silver necklace, and a spa day certificate. She happily showed off her gifts to Teddy, and tried on her necklace straight away. Next was Harry, who got lots of sweets and Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes supplies, along with his usual Weasley jumper, a pile of pastries and mince pies, and, to his surprise, a very nice (and expensive-looking) watch, with thick leather straps and a shiny chrome finish. He looked up at Draco who was smiling nervously at him. 

 

‘Turn it over,’ he said. And Harry did. It said _To Happiness_ , which made Harry’s chest tighten. His eyes prickled as he smiled at Draco. 

 

‘Thank you, it’s beautiful.’ Draco beamed, and Andromeda nudged him to start opening his own gifts. He had received some pies and pastries from Mrs Weasley as well, for which Harry would thank her profusely with a tight hug, and a lovely jumper from his mother, a few books from Andromeda, and a toy dragon from Teddy, apparently. Harry handed him his present with a hesitant smile, and Draco gave him a warm look before opening it. It wasn’t as nice and expensive as Draco’s gift, but it was from the heart, and Harry’s heart skipped a beat when Draco opened it and smiled widely at the framed photo on his lap. It was a photo of him, Draco and Teddy that Andromeda had taken when they’d gone to the park together a few weeks before. They looked so happy and full of life, and Harry wanted Draco to have a proper framed version of it, which was apparently the right choice, because Draco was blinking rapidly and smiling widely. 

 

Draco looked up at Harry and it was as if the whole world had vanished, and it was just the two of them, looking into each other’s eyes, everything being said without one word being uttered. Harry felt himself flush again as Draco’s eyes bore into him, and they were pulled from their trance by Andromeda clearing her throat. 

 

She was looking between them with an amused expression on her face, one hand stroking a scarf on her lap. 

 

‘How about we take care of lunch, eh?’ she asked. ‘Harry, dear, I do believe it is your turn to make the Yorkshire puddings this year.’ 

 

Harry nodded dumbly and got up to go to the kitchen. Andromeda set Draco with the job of entertaining Teddy until the food was ready, which he seemed glad to do. 

 

‘How about some telly, Edward?’ he asked. Teddy jumped onto the sofa excitedly as Draco turned on the television and flicked the channel probably in search of a Christmas film for him and Teddy to watch. 

 

In the kitchen, Harry set about making the puddings, going through the motions, the intensity of Draco’s eyes on his still fresh on his skin. If Andromeda noticed, she didn’t comment on it, and they worked quietly for a bit before she turned on the wireless for some music. 

 

A couple of hours later, the food was ready. They liked to have their lunch early, at proper lunch time, so by one o’clock all the food was ready to be moved to the dining room. Harry felt comfortable in Andromeda’s house, which was much more homely than his. The dining room was full of deep reds and mauves, and the china was elegant and tasteful. She always took out the best china and the finest silverware for special occasions — Christmas, birthdays, celebrations — and the table was set beautifully as per usual. 

 

‘Boys, food is ready,’ Andromeda called as Harry carried the too-large turkey to the dining table. It was a truly monstrous thing and it’d taken hours to cook through, but it smelled and looked absolutely scrumptious, and Harry couldn’t wait to try it. 

 

Draco and Teddy scrambled into the room together, laughing breathlessly, which made Draco look much softer and younger, which in turn made Harry’s stomach go aflutter with all varieties of butterflies. 

 

Andromeda sat at the head of the table, with Teddy on one side, and Harry on the other. Draco sat next to Teddy and winked at Harry as he sat down on his chair, making the hairs on the back of Harry’s neck stand up. He tried to push those definitely un-Christmassy thoughts away while Andromeda said grace and handed Harry the carving knife for the turkey. Soon, they were all settled with heaping plates of food swimming in deliciously fragrant gravy, and all lewd thoughts were out of Harry’s mind because the food was too good. They chatted a bit, complimenting the food, praising Andromeda’s and Harry’s skills, and discussing their presents, but mostly it was a comfortably silent meal. 

 

Draco looked relaxed and comfortable here, sitting next to Teddy, laughing, and sipping on his wine. His lips were stained red, and he looked even more beautiful than usual. His delicate, long fingers handled the cutlery with utmost elegance, and the ate more gracefully than Harry had ever seen anyone eat. Harry couldn’t believe he’d never noticed how graceful Draco was before during all the meals they’ve shared over the past two months, but still, there he was, across from him on the dining room table, looking like a proper prince in a Christmas jumper, sending warm glows up and down Harry’s spine.  

 

Soon they were stuffed, rubbing their bellies after eating far too much food, and deciding to postpone Christmas pudding until a bit later. Draco volunteered to take the leftovers back to the kitchen and clean up, for which Andromeda thanked him profusely, and he even refused Harry’s help. 

 

‘Just you three go back to watch those silly Christmas films. I’m sure that awful one with the Terminator guy will start any minute now,’ he said with a grin, shooing them all to the living room as he tidied up. And while Harry did want to spend some time alone with Draco, he was feeling quite fatigued from cooking then eating more than he had all year. So he followed Andromeda and Teddy, and sure enough, _Jingle All the Way_ was just about to start on Channel 4, so they sat back, Teddy on Andromeda’s lap, Harry on the overstuffed leather armchair, and watched the film. Soon enough they were all nodding off. 

 

Harry woke up when the credits were rolling up, having missed most of the film. He struggled to remember where he was for a moment, and looked around, his eyes falling on the sleeping figure of Teddy cradled gently on Andromeda’s arms. She was speaking softly with Draco, who had apparently finished cleaning up and was now sitting next to her. Upon seeing he was awake, they turned to face him and smiled. 

 

‘Draco was just telling me he is going to have to skip on pudding,’ Andromeda said, a teasing tone in her voice. 

 

‘Yes, I’m sorry about that, but I should go back to Mother,’ he said, standing up. ‘I will Apparate to the Manor from outside, if that’s okay?’ he asked. ‘And please, apologise to Edward for my early exit.’  

 

‘Of course, darling, go ahead. I’ve got an armful of Teddy here, Harry be a dear and see Draco out?’ 

 

‘Of course, yes,’ Harry said, standing up. He was a bit disappointed that Draco was leaving already, but they’d have time to talk later. Harry put his shoes back on and adjusted his rumpled jumper before following Draco to the door. Draco was putting on his coat and wrapping his scarf around his neck. He looked at Harry with a brilliant smile. 

 

‘Thank you for the gift, Harry. It will go really well on my mantle, so I can see it everyday.’ 

 

Harry beamed. ‘Good. I’m glad you liked it. I loved my present as well, it’s beautiful.’

 

Draco shrugged and smiled. Then, to Harry’s surprise, he leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss on his cheek, his warm breath ghosting over Harry’s cheekbone, making him shiver. 

 

‘Spend New Year’s with me,’ it wasn’t a question. 

 

‘Yes,’ was all Harry would say. 

 

And with that, Draco was gone. And Harry was going to spend New Year’s with him. 

 

He could feel the excitement on his very toes. 

 

* * *

 

 

‘So you’ve been… seeing Malfoy?’ asked Hermione when Harry went to her and Ron’s on Boxing Day. Harry sighed. 

 

‘No, I’ve been getting to know him, we’ve become friends these past couple of months, and now I think we might, well, _see_ each other, I suppose is how you could put it.’ 

 

‘But—Malfoy?’ asked Ron, eyes wide, still in shock. Harry rolled his eyes. 

 

‘Ron, he’s changed. He’s not the same person he was when we were at school, and neither am I. We’ve talked a lot about everything, and for the first time in forever, I feel like this might be something, I don’t know, special. Or something.’ 

 

‘Okay, fine, he’s changed, you’ve changed. And all that change means you’re, what, gay now?’ 

 

Hermione tutted. ‘Ron, please. Sexuality is not black and white, it’s very fluid, and what Harry might be experiencing is the discovery of bisexuality. But it doesn’t matter right now, what matters is that he’s been seeing Malfoy all this time without telling us,’ she said, glaring at both of them. Harry sighed again. 

 

‘I didn’t want you to go all judg-y on me while I was still trying to figure things out, yeah? I know you’re not happy with my career choice, ‘Mione, and I didn’t want to add this to the list of things you don’t approve of about me.’ 

 

Hermione gasped. ‘Is that… how you see me? Harry, I—’

 

‘’Mione, I love you, okay? I do, but not just you, but everyone has been giving me lectures upon lectures on What I Should Be Doing With My Life for the past six years, and all I want is peace and to be rid of expectations, yours and everyone else’s.’ 

 

It was Hermione’s turn to sigh and she sagged slightly on the kitchen chair, her cup of tea growing cold before her. Ron was looking down at the table with a frown, and Harry was trying not to feel guilty about his Perfectly Reasonable feelings. 

 

‘I suppose I have been rather hard on you. Of course you can do whatever you want with your life, Harry, and we’ll always be there for you.’ 

 

‘Yeah, mate, sorry we’ve made you think different.’ 

 

Harry smiled at them and nodded. ‘And about Draco?’ 

 

Hermione sat back and crossed her arms, a look of determination in her eyes. 

 

‘If you trust him, then I do. Besides, he hasn’t been on the tabloids in ages, so maybe he has changed after all.’ 

 

Harry smirked. ‘Yeah, maybe he has.’ 

 

* * *

 

 As per their arrangement, Harry arrived at Draco’s at eight o’clock in the evening. He was wearing a black shirt over dark fitted jeans and a black blazer. His shoes were also black because he was a stickler for some traditions, and he thought he looked rather dashing as he made his way through Draco’s flat in search of the man himself. 

 

‘Draco?’ he asked. 

 

‘In here!’ Draco yelled from the kitchen. Harry walked in to find Draco in a blue-and-white striped apron stirring pots on the stove and frantically checking on the cooker. He looked back at Harry with a sheepish grin. ‘Sorry about this, I had an issue at the office which really put me way behind schedule. You don’t mind waiting a bit for dinner, do you?’

 

Harry smiled. ‘Of course. Anything I can do?’ 

 

Draco shook his head. ‘No, it’s all right. I’ve got it all under control. It’s almost finished. Could you decant the wine, though, please? I’ve picked a bottle, it’s in the counter. 

 

Harry did as he was told and waited for Draco to finish cooking. Smooth jazz playing from the speakers in the living room, and Harry felt instantly relaxed, leaning against the kitchen counter watching Draco cook with the same grace he did everything else. 

 

It wasn’t too long until the food was done, and Draco asked him to set the dining room with the plates and cutlery he had left at the counter by the decanter. Harry dutifully picked them up and walked to the dining room, but he caught sight of the coffee table over that insanely comfortably Persian rug, and decided on a change of plans. He set the plates next to each other on the table, arranged the silverware in the Proper Place Draco always insisted. He switched off the Floo and put some more firewood for the flames, which cast a lovely warm glow on Draco’s beautiful living room, with its creams and soft browns. He went back into the kitchen to help Draco bring it the food, and was assaulted by an array of delicious smells. 

 

Draco had made Boeuf Bourguignon, with that side rice Harry had loved the first time he had dinner at Draco’s. There was a beautifully seasoned salad sitting on a crystal bowl next to the decanter. 

 

‘Change of plans,’ said Harry, and Draco looked up from where he was putting the rice on the serving dish. ‘I thought we would be more comfortable eating elsewhere tonight,’ he added. Draco arched an eyebrow but said nothing, only followed Harry into the living room carrying the wine decanter, the dishes following them bobbing in the air. 

 

Seeing their set-up, Draco smirked. ‘Comfortable indeed,’ he purred, standing so close to Harry he could smell his cologne — something lemon-y and sharp and utterly hypnotising. 

 

Harry smirked and they sat down next to each other, surrounded by wonderful smelling food. The jazz was still playing, and Harry realised it was Miles Davis. The music was smooth and soothing, and mixed with the warm glow from the hearth and the tangy, almost spicy scent of the food, it made Harry almost dizzy. 

 

Draco served them their food and poured them their wine, and they tucked in. Harry hadn’t realised how hungry he was, and the food was absolutely delicious, like everything Draco made. The meat was tender and the vegetables crisp, the rice was sweet and creamy, and the wine went smooth down his throat. He would have moaned with pleasure were he not too busy losing himself in the flavours. 

 

They ate in companionable silence. Draco’s thigh brushed against his, sending a prickle up and down Harry’s leg. Their elbows bumped sometimes when slicing the meat, and they shared a small laugh, revelling in the playfulness, all to aware of what was to come. At least Harry was, though judging by the apprehensive, excited glint in Draco’s eyes, he probably felt the same. 

 

All to soon, they were finished with dinner. It was Harry’s turn to insist on cleaning up, but this time Draco followed him into the kitchen, bringing the plates and his still-half-full wine glass. He leant against the counter now, watching Harry put away the left-overs and clean up the dirty dishes and pots. It felt almost domestic, doing this, cleaning up as Draco watched him. 

 

By the time he was finished, Draco had opened another bottle of wine, and there was an hour and a half until midnight. They went back into the living room, and sat down next to each other on the sofa. Suddenly the silence was awkward, like they had things to say but didn’t know how to go about actually saying them. 

 

Draco cleaned his throat and turned to seat sideways, facing Harry. 

 

‘I’d like to thank you,’ he said. Harry’s eyes widened. 

 

‘Well, you cooked the meal, I—’

 

‘No, not for food, for everything else. I—well, see, I wasn’t doing too well over the past few years. I was… adrift,’ he said. Harry’s heart clenched at the word. He knew that feeling so well, and he placed his hand atop Draco’s at the back of the sofa, giving it a reassuring squeeze. Draco smiled at him. ‘I couldn’t really form relationships, relate to other people, I pushed them away so that they couldn’t hurt me. What Astoria did hurt me deeply, especially in the aftermath of my father being sent to Azkaban and all that rotten business, I just didn’t know what to do, and I lost myself.’ 

 

‘Draco—’

 

‘No, wait, let me finish,’ he said, twining his fingers with Harry’s on the back of the sofa. ‘Harry, you pulled me out of the water. Your friendship, talking with you, someone who understood exactly what I was going through and didn’t pass judgement on my actions, it made me see there is more to life than work and sex. That I can allow myself to feel again and trust that I won’t be hurt so deeply. The present outcome was unexpected, while not unwelcome, but I want you do know that your friendship means the world to me.’ 

 

‘What outcome?’ asked Harry, feeling too warm all of a sudden, from the food and the wine and the hearth and the music, which played long and soft.

 

‘Love, I suppose,’ said Draco, a sheepish, almost apologetic smile on his lips. ‘I found myself completely out of my depth for the first time in years, and out of my control I began to fall rather madly in love with you, Harry Potter.’ 

 

Harry’s eyes were wide again. His heart was beating so hard, it felt like it was jumping out of his chest. 

 

The space between them was suddenly far too much, and he needed to get closer. 

 

‘Draco,’ he whispered, placing a hand on the back of Draco’s neck, feeling that smooth, warm skin underneath his palm. ‘Draco.’ They were inches apart, he could feel Draco’s death mingling with his. 

 

‘Do you love me, Harry?’ Draco whispered back. Anything louder than a whisper would break this moment, and Harry wanted it to last forever. 

 

‘Gods, yes, Draco. Yes,’ he said, finally, closing the distance between them and capturing Draco’s mouth in an earth-shattering kiss. Draco’s mouth was soft and pliant, and his lips tasted of expensive wine and Boeuf Bourguignon. At first their mouths just glided against each other, tasting, savouring, feeling. But then Draco’s tongue was at the seem of Harry’s lips, and soon they were tasting each other, properly without any barriers. Harry sucked on Draco’s tongue, earning himself a glorious moan that made Harry shiver. Harry buried his hands Draco’s hair, and Draco pulled him closer by the waist. Their legs were intertwined now as they sat half on top of each other on the sofa. 

 

Draco gently pushed Harry backward on the sofa, and crawled on top of him, propping himself up on one arm as he explored Harry’s side with the other. Their mouths of frantic, tasting and feeling everything. Draco moved on from Harry’s lips to kiss his way down his jaw, mouthing his earlobe, and finally placing open mouthed kisses down his neck. Harry moaned and writhed, clutching the back of Draco’s tailored white shirt with his hands, pulling Draco closer to him. 

 

Draco pulled back, panting, breathless, and smiled brilliantly at Harry. ‘Bedroom?’ he asked in between breaths, and Harry had never agreed to anything so fast in his life. They scrambled up, and Draco took Harry by the hand, walking him to his bedroom, which was on the second floor. The master bedroom with an en suite, a large bed made up with gorgeous midnight blue Egyptian cotton sheets, and more of that soothing cream colour on the walls. Draco walked backwards and sat on the bed, pulling Harry between his open knees. 

 

‘Make love to me, Harry.’ 

 

Harry’s heart felt like bursting. His beamed down at Draco and cupped his jaw gently with one hand, running a thumb through his cheek. 

 

‘Yes,’ was all he could say before bending down and capturing that delicious mouth in another kiss. This time it was languid. Sensual, almost, as they got into bed together, pulling at shirts and belts, undoing buttons and grasping hair. They rutted against each other. Harry could feel Draco’s erection through his very fine trousers, and moaned at the friction. Harry had missed this, this intimacy of having sex with someone he cared about. Someone he… loved. 

 

Draco pulled his shirt off first, allowing Harry to stared at the expanse of skin on his chest, the fine blond hair between his small, pink nipples. His flat stomach, tone but not overly, enough to make Harry want to run his tongue through it. And he did. Draco’s skin tasted amazing, sharp and spicy, with a hint of citrus. He explored the skin with his fingertips as Draco undid the buttons on his shirt and soon Harry was shirtless, too. It didn’t matter he’d never been with a man before, because it was all skin, and this is Draco, whose own skin felt gorgeous against his. Perfect. They slotted against each other, fitting like puzzle pieces, and Harry couldn’t help the moan that escaped his lips. 

 

‘Oh, Draco.’

 

‘Harry,’ Draco moaned. ‘Off. These,’ he said, pulling Harry’s trousers down. They struggled for a bit, but finally, finally, they were out of their trousers and shoes and socks, lying together, kissing passionately, only in their underwear — Harry suddenly felt very proud at his choice of black boxer briefs judging by the hungry look in Draco’s eyes when he saw them. Draco palmed his erection through the briefs, and Harry moaned again, louder, thrusting his hips forward. 

 

Draco was wearing green silk boxer shorts, which did nothing to hide his own erection, which was tenting it most tantalisingly. Harry ran a finger up the shaft through the silk, making Draco groan and pull him back for a messy kiss. 

 

Harry decided to be bold, and bent to face Draco’s silk-clad erection. ‘I’ve never done this before,’ he said. ‘With a man, that is.’ 

 

Draco smiled indulgently at him. ‘I’ll teach you,’ he said. ‘Lie down.’ 

 

‘You don’t want—?’

 

‘Later, you first.’ Draco lay Harry down on the pillows, spread his legs and lay between them, facing Harry’s engorged cock. ‘I can’t wait to taste you,’ he said, his voice hoarse and sinful, making Harry even harder than before, it at all possible. Draco ran his tongue over Harry’s cock over the brief, making Harry moan loudly at the not-quite contact. Pre-come was coming out of the tip of his cock, and he felt gorgeously dirty like this, spread-legs and open-heart. Draco then pulled at the back of his briefs, feeling up Harry’s arse on the way with a playful wink. Then, Harry was fully naked, and his erect cock sprang to life, standing proudly for Draco to see, and Draco licked his lips watching it. ‘You have a marvellous cock, Harry.’ 

 

Harry chuckled and started playing with one nipple, awaiting Draco’s next move. And, of course, he did not disappoint. He knew exactly what he was doing, first pressing soft kisses on the head, licking away the pre-come with a moan of pleasure. Then he licked down the shaft, sending electricity through Harry’s body. His tongue was so gentle, so delicate, the touch was almost-there and it made Harry crazy. ‘Oh, Merlin,’ he moaned. 

 

Draco used one hand to hold onto the base of his cock, and with the other he played with Harry’s free nipple, and he was _everywhere_. Under his skin, inside his body, over him, around him. There was only Draco, and Harry almost whimpered when the warm heat of his mouth enclosed around the head of his cock and started bobbing, up and down, then licking him luxuriously. No one had ever been so loving to his cock, caressed it so gently, given it such attention. Ginny didn’t like to give blow jobs, so Harry never asked, and now these feelings of pleasure were almost overwhelming because Draco knew exactly what he was doing, and from the mains escaping his own throat, he was enjoying it. He was loving fellating Harry, mouthing at his cock, tasting him in all the right places. The hand that was playing with his nipple moved down, caressing his thigh and pushing his legs further apart. Harry felt so exposed lying there with his open legs, but it also fight so right. 

 

‘Oh God, Draco…’ he moaned, when Draco managed to swallow him to the root, his nose brushing against Harry’s pubic hair, nuzzling it almost. 

 

Soon it was too much, Harry was overwhelmed with sensations, his skin oversensitive, and he felt that familiar tug at the bottom of his stomach. He grasped Draco hair in warning, not trusting his mouth to say anything but Draco’s name, and then he was coming down Draco’s throat. And Draco swallowed, he sucked him through his orgasm, and swallowed everything Harry sent down his throat. It was a beautiful sight, when Draco pulled out, his lips red and swollen, his eyes half-lidded. 

 

‘Merlin, Draco…’ Harry panted. ‘You were… Are… I don’t…’ 

 

Draco crawled upward and kissed Harry deeply, and he tasted like Harry now. It was beautiful and delicious.

 

‘What should we do about you, then?’ he asked, eyeing Draco’s erection with had begun to leak through his silk boxers, which Harry promptly removed, seeing Draco’s cock in all its glory for the first time. It was long and thick and dark pink, flushed with arousal. There was a vein running from the base all through the shaft, ending at the head, which was fat and wet and Harry had never wanted to lick something more. But he wanted something even more tonight. He’d been thinking about it since Christmas, since before Christmas, even, and seeing Draco here, nude, beautiful, free, he wanted it even more. 

 

‘What do you want to do, Harry?’ Draco asked, sounding slightly breathless from arousal. 

 

Harry looked into his eyes and smiled. ‘I want you to fuck me.’ 

 

Draco groaned and pounced, kissing Harry deeply, making his toes curl. Draco was everything, everywhere. Harry needed him inside his body. 

 

‘Turn around,’ said Draco, so Harry turned on the face, lying on his stomach. Draco picked up a pillow and placed it under Harry’s groin, so his arse was tilted up, and Harry had never felt so exposed before. He groaned and thrusted against the pillow, feeling himself grow hard again even though he’d just come not five minutes before. ‘You’re gonna love this, I promise,’ he said, kneading Harry’s cheeks with his hands, and Harry moaned again, louder. His was beyond verbal at this point. 

 

Then, Draco spread his cheeks apart, and Harry felt his breath ghost over his hole, and he shuddered. Draco wouldn’t… He wasn’t going to…

 

But then, Draco’s tongue was on his hole, licking at him, inside and out, at the rim, and inside, fucking him with his mouth and tongue, and Harry was a shivering mess. He was hard again, painfully hard, and at every brush of Draco’s tongue, he groaned louder, feeling his skin too hot and too tight and too bloody fucking brilliant. 

 

Then Draco brought his fingers along, stretching him open with fingers and tongue, and Harry whimpered, sobbing with pleasure and arousal. If he had any doubts that this is what he wanted, there was no room for them now. Harry loved this, he was in love with this, he wanted Draco like this forever. 

 

‘Draco, oh my Merlin… Gods, gods,’ he whimpered as Draco continued with his ministrations, fucking Harry gently with his tongue and fingers, three fingers now, inside him, and he barely felt a thing because it was just too fucking good. 

 

‘I think you’re ready,’ panted Draco, ‘turn around again,’ he said. So Harry turned, feeling hollow without Draco’s fingers and tongue inside him. Draco looked beautifully debauched, his mouth dripping wet and swollen even a deeper red. His hair is disarray. Gods, how Harry loved him. 

 

Draco leaned over the bedside table to grab a bottle of lube, and lathered it on his cock, and on the rim of Harry’s hole. Harry shivered at the cold, but was glad for Draco’s fingers there nonetheless. ‘Lie back,’ Draco said. ‘It might hurt a bit at first, so tell me if you need me to stop, yeah?’

 

Harry nodded. Draco aligned himself with Harry and slowly pushed himself in. His cock was thicker than his three fingers, and Harry felt himself be even further stretched. The pain did come, but it wasn’t unpleasant, and he breathed harshly as Draco entered him further and further. Finally, he was all the way in, and they were both panting. Draco was face-to-face with Harry now, and his smile was like the sun. Harry smiled back. 

 

‘Ready?’ Draco asked. Harry nodded, and Draco captured his mouth in a kiss as he began to thrust properly. It was gentle at first, and it took some getting used to, but then he moved ever so slightly, hitting that magical spot that sent waves of pleasure all through Harry’s body, and they truly began in earnest. Draco thrusted in and out hard now. Harry wrapped his legs around Draco’s hips, pulling him in, making him hit that spot, that magical spot. And they kissed, messily, wetly, brilliantly. It was perfect. But they’d already been so close to the edge that it only took a while for Draco to start thrusting harder, more passionately. 

 

‘I’m coming, I’m coming,’ he said, bringing his hand to pump Harry’s erection. Their pants and harsh breaths echoed through the room, followed by their cries of pleasure as they came together and rode out their orgasms, Draco inside Harry. 

 

Draco pulled own and slumped on the bed, lying next to Harry on his side, one arm across Harry’s chest. 

 

Harry stared at the ceiling with the biggest smile, still slightly breathless, but sated with passion and happiness. 

 

‘That was amazing,’ he said. Draco smiled next to him, his eyes closed, so Harry could study his features more closely. The pale freckles on his nose, the dark lashes, his plump lips. He was beautiful, and Harry couldn’t get enough of him. 

 

He was overcome with love for this man, it was so sudden and so fast, but it felt so right, so he pulled him closer, trapping Draco in his arms, not caring that they were sticky and wet. Draco draped himself across Harry languidly and yawned.

 

‘I love you, Harry,’ he said, and there was a hint of relief in his voice that made Harry’s heart leap. 

 

‘I love you, too,’ Harry said. 

 

The fireworks started outside, loud and followed by millions of cheers from the people celebrating the New Year. Draco nuzzled Harry’s jaw, scratching his beard with a hand. 

 

‘Happy New Year,’ he said. Harry smiled and pulled him closer. 

 

‘Happy New Year, love,’

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this monster happened. I'm currently working on a WIP which is going to be super long, and it will take a while to get to the smutty bits, except I really wanted to write some drarry smut, and this idea came into my head. I didn't realise that first that it was going to get this long, but I really quite like this. 
> 
> It was inspired by Fall Out Boy's "Thnks Fr Th Mmrs" of all things, and the title comes from the song as well. 
> 
> Please let me know what you think, either here or on [my blog](http://writingquill.tumblr.com). Also check out my other drarry fic [Before We Collide](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4791359/chapters/10965287). 
> 
> Cheers x


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